


A Quick Fix

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: AU, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4284666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jet falls in love with the stranger's classic Camero the first time he brings it to his shop, but there's more baggage there than the retired cop could've guessed.</p><p>(Mechanic!Jet AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quick Fix

Jet nearly dropped his wrench when the sleek Camero rolled into his garage. Classic 1969,  _gorgeous_ , complete with ostentatious racing stripes and eye-catching dark interior. However, it was obvious it had been brought for maintenance, limping along on only two working tires, a chipped paint job, and dented passenger door. He barely paid attention to the frustrated rambling of the owner as he got to work, angered by the lack of care and consideration for the beautiful vehicle.

He was pleased to recognise the car around town at times afterwards, his repairs invisible to all but his own eye. It was in good shape each time he glimpsed it, pleased his heated lecture about regular maintenance seemed to have stuck with the lanky owner. 

However, a month to the day he had first seen the Camero it returned, the owner offering a too-easy grin that hid the secret of the bullet holes ripped through the back fender. Jet managed to hold his tongue this time, dropping only a few choice words as he diligently replaced what he could and smoothed over the rest. Back in it's heyday, this Camero had likely seen the same and worse, but she was getting on in years now. She was no longer up to being used as a getaway car, or in extended chases, or whatever the hell her owner got up to. Jet remarked on this over settling the bill, that she deserved her rest and to be appreciated, but the owner just laughed and snagged his cigarette from the holder, taking a long drag before replying.

"Don't we all," he said with that same lazy smile, touching a tanned hand to his forehead in mock salute before sliding into the driver's seat. Jet left his glare on the road long after the Camero had vanished over the hills, his mind idly reconstructing the angle and intensity of the car's wounds. What had it been? A robbery? A set-up? Gang related? His former life pulled at him, begging to solve the riddle, but that was a road he'd willingly left a decade ago. He firmly put both the car and mysterious owner out of his mind.

And that was that. The summer flew by, filled with vintage car shows and expos and hard work, and Jet had all but forgotten the beautiful Camero when it was literally pushed up to his shop, the owner collapsing face down in the packed dirt. 

"Oi," Jet growled, stomping over as he wiped his hands on a rag stained darker than his fingers, "you wanna tell me what you did to her  _this_ time? She's- Is that  _charring?!_ "

No response.

Jet snorted, nudging an arm of the prone man, frowning at the lack of movement. It was then a familiar smell tangled with the scent of burnt oil and heated metal, forcing Jet to kneel and quickly swipe his hands down the stranger's body. One slipped too easily along the opposite side, just above a bloody hip, and Jet was moving without thinking. 

Bandages, tweezers, hot water, blood, bullets. The afternoon blurred through the triage, silent and grim until the sun dipped below the horizon. Jet was washing his hands, satisfied with the padded pressure he'd carefully arranged over the wounds, when the stranger finally stirred. However, he only murmured a name with a sweet curl of his lips before falling into an easier slumber. Jet sighed and ate both bowls of lentil soup, making a note to prepare more broth to freeze tomorrow.

Two days passed with the stranger laying quietly on his futon, the war weary Camero hidden behind a partition in his garage. Whatever its owner had gotten into was likely illegal, and yet every time he reached for the phone, Jet's hand failed to grasp the receiver. The news had remained suspiciously mundane, which stirred an odd bout of protectiveness.

On the third morning Jet awoke to the smell of coffee. Half-dressed, he quickly stumbled downstairs and found his patient leaning against an open window, hugging a steaming mug to his chest while taking a long drag on a fresh cigarette. The head lolled toward him as Jet approached, grinning as he blew smoke from his nostrils. "Yo."

Jet's eyes narrowed, but he kept his focus on the pot on the stove. "That's it?" he growled, voice hoarse from sleep.

The stranger watched as he poured a cup of coffee, Jet's eyes widening in surprise at the smooth taste. "Oh, right. Good morning." He sucked on the cigarette again, then laughed. "I'm usually gone before sun's up, I forgot how it goes."

Jet kicked a chair out from under the table and sat heavily, staring openly at his patient with raised brow, drawing another chuckle from him.

"Oh, uh. Thanks?"

"Better," Jet snorted, pulling the week-old newspaper toward him. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

Jet jerked his head toward the fridge as he opened the paper, then rested his chin in his hands as he stared down at the half finished crossword. Silence for another breath, then he saw- but not heard- the stranger pad over to the kitchen area. Putting his curiosity aside for what felt like the hundredth time, Jet chewed on the end of his pen between sips of the amazingly tasty coffee, contemplating a variety of puzzles.

A soft sigh and rustle of clothing alerted Jet to the stranger behind him just before a slender hand shot forward, tapping a line of white squares. "Dear."

"What?"

"Two down: 'A word for a sweetheart'," his patient quoted, leaning close enough for Jet to catch sight of that damnable sly smile. "It's 'dear'."

Jet nodded, filling in the letters, pausing when a gentle laugh tickled his ear.

"Not  _d-e-e-r_." The slender hand wrapped around his, correcting the  _e_ to an  _a_. "This may not be the hobby for you."

Jet grunted, sliding his eyes to the side as he straightened- bad move, as he could now directly feel the heat of the stranger's chest pressed to his bare skin, and his body and mind were diverting into very different paths. "You ever take your own advice?"

The stranger's eyes snapped and Jet tensed- but just as quickly as it appeared, the anxiety relaxed and the stranger dropped into the adjacent chair. "Probably should," he muttered, gaze dipping down as he gingerly touched the thick strips wrapped around his abdomen. "Probably won't."

"Figured." 

Those dark eyes glittered with interest. "Then why ask?" 

Jet rubbed at his face before swiping the half-burnt cigarette and taking a deep drag. "That car of yours is gonna be here a while," he replied casually. "She can't take many more adventures." His gaze flickered upward. "She needs some time out of sight, out of mind for a while, at the least."

A slow nod of understanding, their eyes locking.

"I wouldn't risk taking her anywhere else," Jet added in a warning tone. "Don't think there's anyone around here who's got the parts to fix her who wouldn't ask questions."

"Yeah." 

"Shouldn't be seen in that condition, anyway," Jet huffed, arching a brow at the stranger's quick laugh. "I'm serious. That's just asking for trouble."

"Maybe I  _like_ trouble."

"That's obvious." Jet nodded toward the stained bandages. "Shouldn't go advertising it just yet though, don't you think?"

"Mm." The cigarette was snatched back as the stranger leaned his chair back on two legs, the smugness radiating from that smile making Jet cringe inwardly. "So what you're saying is, I should just stay right here for a while."

"I guess I am," Jet sighed, pressing a thumb to one of his temples. "It doesn't make sense. Light on your feet, dancer's grace, sharp eyes. How'd those bullets even catch you?"

The stranger's mouth opened, then snapped shut, and they sat in awkward silence while finishing their coffee. Eventually Jet pushed himself to his feet, folding up the crossword puzzle when a hand darted out.

"I don't have any money."

Jet frowned, surprised but pleased at the honesty. He shrugged, offering a lopsided smile in answer, and his patient perked happily.

"Didn't know where else to go."

"I figured that, too," Jet snorted, twisting his hand to grip the stranger's wrist.  _Pale under the tan- malnourished? Feverish? Needs to eat._

"I'll make it up to you."

Though nothing came to mind, Jet believed that stern gaze. "We'll see. Right now I've got another patient to tend to."

The hand slipped loose of his grasp and Jet grabbed both coffee mugs before continuing to the sink, distracted by the right drain. It still had a pink tinge from days ago- _evidence, burn the bandages tonight_ \- and Jet grabbed the rag, bunching it under his thumb as he scrubbed. 

"I'm Spike."

Jet started at the voice next to his ear, already forgetting how silent the stranger was. "Jet."

"And I said-," A flushed cheek pressed to his shoulder, those liquid eyes staring up at him with open suggestion, a sinful hand flicking down his arm, "-I'll make it up to you, somehow."

Jet couldn't hold back his laughter, his whole body shaking with the force. "Spike, I don't know where you're from," he finally gasped, "but I doubt you're  _that_ expensive of a lay."

Spike stared, his surprise quickly breaking into bubbled laughter as well, clinging to his arm as they both chuckled. That lanky warm body melded to his, the clear gaze holding no judgement, and Jet's mind suddenly raced with  _this is a guy I could get used to_.


End file.
